I think I missed the moment. I wanted to write when I was miserable, trying to cope with yet another change in my life, this time the move to this hot, leaky, cockroach-or-insecticide ridden (we do have a choice) 70’s-era trailer, baking in the middle of a big bare yard here at Holden Beach. For those of you who still thought our life was spent dozing in a hammock, fanned by soft ocean breezes, be no longer jealous.We have moved off Kalliope, in order to make some last improvements on her before we put her up for sale. Then we’ll start/continue work on Trio. Then, when Trio is finally finished, and we have managed to sail her to a lovely tropical island, our life will be all dozing in a hammock, fanned by soft ocean breezes. Or at least that’s what Bob tells me. Until then, and for the last few years, it’s been 90% hard work, which we do instead of the hard work for which most people get paychecks. We get paid, we hope, in sweat equity, in these boats, one of which we must sell soon, since it turns out they don’t take equity at the checkout at Food Lion, sweaty or not.
But I have missed the moment. The trailer has now become home. I have vacuumed it, scrubbed it, and put up nautical charts on the walls. Not because I’m so crazy about the nautical look, per se, but because they cover a lot of space and we have plenty of them. We talked the owner of a new chi-chi furniture store into selling us her old kitchen table and chairs out of storage for $50. I got a bookcase, four 2 1/2 gallon plastic buckets to use as trash baskets, two throw rugs and three ice trays at Habitat for Humanity for $9. I’ve invented curtains out of spare pieces of cloth, some just thrown over rusty rods, some pretty creative, though not that pleasant to touch. (I’m thinking of writing a book called Decorating with Straight Pins). I bought an old People Magazine for a quarter, and out of it got a photo of Paul Newman, flanked by Robert Redford, which I pinned on the bathroom wall. If you think you need to look at anything else while you’re in there, you’re on your own.
I’ve cleaned and I hope made reasonably safe, as far as airborne microbial creepiness, the ancient AC unit, which we initially declined to use in favor of fresh air, continued good health, and low energy bills. Last Friday, though, it was 105 degrees in here at four in the afternoon, and we caved. It was either turn the thing on or go live at the local library, and they get cranky there when you start setting up a hibachi, no matter how careful you are with your charcoal.
Bob has made me a functional, if somewhat crude, microwave stand, with a shelf below for pots and pans. He's re-wired, in exchange for rent, a tiny electrical irregularity that could have burned the whole trailer down. I kid you not. He hadn’t switched off the breaker yet when he took the two-by-six off the wall to look at the wire, which was, even as he pulled it out from behind the insulation, hissing and throwing sparks.
Bob has also merged two rusty old bicycles (one came with the trailer, no extra charge) into a single functioning bike for himself, and modified, with donated parts from boatyard friends, a “scratch-and-dent” new one into a bike that I can comfortably ride. The boatyard is just down the road from the trailer, and I say “down” now with the clarity of perception that one gets when riding a bicycle. UP hill to go home, DOWN hill to get to the boatyard. You would not know this if you always drove a car.
I do drive the car into town, where the chore I like best is to get wonderful fresh local fruits and vegetables at an auction! Bob reads to me while I make ever-more-creative dinners. We relax at the boatyard some evenings, hanging out near the cool ICW breezes with our mostly crazy boatyard friends. It’s a life. And we may actually miss it when we’re lying in that hammock, fanned by those soft ocean breezes. But this trailer? Mmm, I think not.
